


If Kisses Were Snowflakes

by somuchforbaggles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Community: deancas_xmas, F/M, First Kiss, M/M, Mistletoe, POV Dean Winchester, pining!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchforbaggles/pseuds/somuchforbaggles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cas's holiday plans fall through, Dean is all too happy to invite him along to Sam and Jess's for Christmas. What he doesn't take into account is how much Christmas seems to suit his best friend, what with the lights making Cas's eyes more beautiful, the themed sweaters making him cuter than he already is, how his cold hands are in permanent need of warming, and - yes, it's going to take everything Dean has not to kiss him senseless under the mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Kisses Were Snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RhymePhile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhymePhile/gifts).



> I tried to include as many of your likes as possible in this, and as you said, tried to be creative with them! I hope you also like Love Actually, and _really_ hope you like this. :)

Dean finds Cas in front of the TV, watching some low budget Christmas movie with Gretchen Weiners in it, wearing a sky blue mohair sweater with a white polar bear on the front and surrounded by Christmas-themed candy wrappers. Without a second thought, he instantly drops his backpack on the floor and joins Cas on the couch, ignoring the crunch of the foil beneath him.

“What happened?” Dean asks, poking his friend on his fluffy arm and devoting all his concentration to whatever Cas might say, no matter how much he wants to make fun of what is no doubt an awful movie.

Cas sighs. “My holiday plans fell through,” he says dourly, drawing his attention away from the television and gazing at Dean with the saddest and unanimated disney-est eyes he has ever seen, especially when they're shining with unshed tears and when Cas's lower lip is trembling even when he presses it tight against his upper lip.

“Hey, hey, don't cry, man!” worries Dean as he rubs a hand up and down Cas's fluffy arm to comfort him. “How come they fell through?”

“I am _not_ crying,” his friend mumbles while lowering the volume of the crappy movie, swivelling himself around on the couch shortly after and tucking his legs up so he can face Dean cross-legged. “My mother asked me not to come back home until I had finished with my 'homosexual phase'.” Cas uses his fingers to create physical quotation marks and cringes as he remembers it all again. Swallowing, he continues, “I didn't even know she was aware of my preferences. I think Michael might have told her.”

Stony faced, Dean replies, “Well, Michael's a dick, you know that, and a damn hypocrite. Remember when he kept groping me that time he stayed? He's never had a 'homosexual phase' my _ass_...oh, that was – I didn't mean to – yeah, never mind. Your mom should love you no matter what, okay? And it's not your fault that she can't accept your sexuality, so don't think this is on you. You can't change it, and neither can she, or anyone in your family, because people don't come with ninety-day returns. Or twenty-three year returns, in your case.”

Cas grunts.

“I know something that'll cheer you up,” Dean says softly, using his thumb and forefinger to tilt Cas's chin up.

“What?” answers Cas in a defeated tone that suggests nothing can pull him out of the sadness surrounding his strict family's latent homophobia.

“You finally used the bunny ears in the right context.”

That gets a tiny smile from his friend, and so Dean grins as he sidles closer to him, once again taking no notice of the creaking wrappers beneath him. “Would it make you happier if I gave you one of your presents early?”

“You bought me more than one present?” Cas asks, his face frozen between pleasant surprise and a frown. “Dean, you shouldn't have, really -”

“Have you got me more than one?” Dean interrupts, knowing the answer full well. After all, Cas hasn't exactly been subtle with the bags labelled with the post-it note, _'Dean if you look inside these I will know and I will be extremely disappointed in you'._ Cas makes a grumbling noise and shuffles about til he's facing the TV again, his shoulder rubbing against Dean's and his sweater unwittingly tickling Dean's bare arms.

“Ha, knew it!” Dean gloats. “So, do you want one of yours early or not?”

Cas tries to keep his sullen mood up but it dissipates, as any bad mood would do when faced with Dean Winchester's bright presence and full-watt beams.

“I suppose so...” he huffs with a hint of a smile, excitement rising in him as the thought of Christmas presents is no longer limited to how he wouldn't be able to see his family's reactions to theirs, and his heart beating faster at the prospect of what his best friend had gotten him. Somehow, Dean manages to top his own gift-giving every year, and Castiel prides himself that he is one of the few people who Dean had deemed important enough to receive multiple gifts. Other than him, it was only Sam and their recently-passed mother.

While Dean disappears to get his Christmas present from whatever hiding place in the apartment it is in, Castiel tidies the couch of the remnants of his chocolate binge. Usually, he doesn't like chocolate all that much, but he had heard of the benefits of dark chocolate, i.e the serotonin levels, and gorged himself of all the dark chocolate candy after the phonecall with his mother. Cas had thought this day might come, but he didn't think that it would be so soon, or so out of the left-field, and could only hope that Anna would tell him how everyone liked their presents after he had sent them down.

“Here we go!” Dean says, entering with a lumpy parcel wrapped in pages ripped from his favourite skin mag, _Busty Asian Beauties_ , and taped together with cheap sellotape. “It was gonna be in fancy festive paper with a bow and a tag, but this was all I had to hand, sorry.” He hands the present over to its recipient, grimacing.

Cas laughs as he takes it in his hands, a full eye-crinkling one, and strokes it while he says, “I almost don't want to open it. It's far too nice to ruin. Actually, I’m going to take a picture of this...”

He fumbles about in his pocket for his phone and snaps a couple of pictures, one on its own and one of a quietly amused Dean with it for good measure. It is only after he's finished chuckling as he swipes back and forth through both the photos that Cas finally starts to take the wrapping apart; carefully though, so as not to diminish his friend's pornographic sacrifice.

Once the paper is neatly flowered around his gift but reveals next to nothing of what his gift actually is, Castiel fingers the brown fabric before holding it up to see what it is. His face lights up, much to Dean's joy, and he gushes sincerely, “Oh, Dean! This is...this is so perfect! I love it, thank you, thank you so much,” and leaps across the space between them to hold his best friend in a tight hug.

“Okay, buddy, glad you like it,” Dean bashfully strains, his words nearly choked by the fierceness and the constriction of the embrace, only being released so Cas can strip himself of his polar bear sweater and slip on his new one.

“What do you think?” Cas asks as he flicks up the hood.

It's a Christmas pudding sweater with a hood that has a red knitted cherry on the head, the colour a dark brown apart from the splash of white around the collar, for the icing, with a sprig of holly just to the side of the neck, and a little baggy, just how Cas likes them.

“I think...” Dean starts, narrowing his eyes in contemplation, “I think you look like a dorky hipster.”

Cas puffs his chest out in pride, a clear indication that he feels at least a little better, and Dean's body is suddenly overwhelmed with gladness that he did that.

“Thank you,” Cas says proudly. “That is, after all, my signature look.”

“It wasn't a compliment!” protests Dean, still buzzing with a strange kind of happiness.

“Yes it was.” Cas smiles one of his maddeningly small smiles, only maddening because they always make Dean think that his friend has a secret he's not revealing, and hands the discarded polar bear sweater to him. “Here, put this on. You have goosepimples and you know how much you hate getting colds.”

Dean stares at the bright blue fluffy sweater in disgust. He has nothing against Cas's sweaters per se, he even fuels Cas's addiction, but he just thinks that they should stay with their owner, where they look good. 'Dorky Hipster' works on no one but Castiel Novak, something Cas has always taken satisfaction in when Dean tells him so.

He holds the sweater in his hand, feeling Cas's body heat from it still, and getting a whiff of his best friend's smell whenever he breathes in through his nose. It's not a bad smell: it smells like cranberries and dark chocolate and the aftershave he bought him for his birthday, the one Cas bought a new bottle of because he loved it so much, and it's altogether far too intoxicating for Dean not to bury his nose in the fluffy warmth and let the scent overcome him.

But he restrains himself. Just. For the sake of not looking weird in front of his best friend. And though Cas has told him how good he smells on many an occasion, it just doesn't feel _right_ that he return the compliment, even if he uses the head massager far too often on that head of dark hair. Plus, of course, there was that time when they got drunk and started using the prongs of the massager on their knees, elbows, and asses, and yeah, it might have felt really good, but outright sniffing your friend's clothes was worse than drunkenly declaring, _'This is like ten orgasms!'_ when said friend stroked the massager up your elbow, surely?

Even so, Dean puts on the sweater, trying not to look too happy when his head gets caught in it and swamps him in Cas's scent. “You know you don't get colds from being cold, right?” Dean makes sure in a grumble.

“I know,” smirks Cas, stifling laughter at the sight of his best friend, self-proclaimed hipster-hater, in wear he would describe precisely as filthy hipster clothing. Dean is such a grumpy old man sometimes, and it's equal parts hilarious and irritating, the latter especially when he's ill, which is why he wants to take no risks, even if it means listening to old wives' tales. “You get colds from going to bed with wet hair.” He winks, playfully shunting Dean's shoulder with his own.

“Dork,” Dean mutters, twanging the knitted cherry atop Cas's hooded head and pushing him right back. Cas retaliates by shoving his bare feet under the polar bear sweater to heat them on Dean's warm tummy, and Dean nearly falls off the couch in shock, spouting profanities until he settles on full, sensical sentences. “Cas! What the – How are your feet so cold? Put some frickin' socks on!”

“I don't need socks if I have you,” Cas says, cocking his head to the side. “You're my own personal radiator.”

Reddening, Dean pushes Cas's feet out his clothes, not touching the skin once, because _hello?_ Feet are disgusting. And a hive for germs. Plus, Cas goes practically everywhere barefoot if he can, so who knows where they've been?

He strips off the extra pair of socks he always wears this time of year and throws them at Cas's chest.

“You're giving me your spare socks?” Cas asks curiously.

“Yep. You gave me your sweater so I wouldn't catch a cold, now I’m giving you my extra socks so you won't get frostbite. Your toes are blue, Cas, ain't nothin' healthy about that.”

Cas's face softens. “You're very kind to me.” He clutches the socks to his chest, near his heart, and there's something added to the blue of his eyes that makes Dean feel ever so slightly disoriented.

“They're socks, man,” he says, and it's meant to sound like he's batting it away, like it's nothing, like it _means_ nothing, but instead it sounds a little sad and a little amazed. Not a few days pass that they don't have a moment like this, when personal space becomes a distant memory and when the space seems to blur around them, but they never address it. It's hinted at by their roommates and friends at college, but it's just simply normal for them. Usually. Recently, Dean has felt... _pulled_ towards Castiel inexplicably, and Cas has been orbiting Dean almost unawares, the Moon to Dean's Earth. Initially, Dean was scared. What if now he had noticed everything, it stopped? What if it didn't? He isn't entirely sure if he wants his questions answered.

In his reverie about how his words sounded and how much of a moment with Cas he was having, Dean realises that he's still gazing at his friend with a look he couldn't decipher if he held a mirror in front of his face, and coughs to break the charged tension.

“All the same...thank you.” There's a short silence in which Cas slowly pulls the socks on with great thought, and then he quietly adds, ”I don't think my family would have done that for me.”

Dean thinks about repeating the line about them just being socks, this time in the way he intended, but figures that they're more of a principle for Cas, and says nothing. Cas turns the TV up before narrowing his eyes, muting it, and pinning Dean with an expectant look.

“What?” Dean warily asks.

“Put them on.”

He freezes and feigns innocence, widening his green eyes and raising his eyebrows. “Put what on?”

“You know what,” Cas says sternly. “I made a promise, Dean Winchester, and I intend to keep it. I don't care if you think they look execrable, put them on. I’m not risking your health. _You're_ not risking your health.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, 'cause not wearing my glasses could kill me. And really? Execrable?”

“You were the one who suggested I use my full vocabulary,” Cas haughtily replies.

“Only because you sound c- You...you sound cool, you know, when you use big words. A little pretentious, but kinda, uh, Shakespearian. I don't know.” _Only because you sound cute when you use big words,_ is what he was going to say before it was finally filtered through his brain, albeit late.

“Dean.” Cas is piercing him with an unsettling stare that goes right through him, leading Dean to silently panic and worry that he really is that transparent. “Your glasses. Put. Them. On. If you don't, you'll get a headache and you'll be grouchy for the rest of the evening.”

He sighs, acquiesces, and groans as he pushes himself up from the couch, and with a begrudgingly thankful look back at his smug friend, Dean retrieves his glasses from his backpack. They're not much, they're fairly thin, rectangular, and rimmed with silver. Cas liked them when he was picking glasses out, and especially enjoyed taking pictures of Dean in various styles that Dean thought didn't suit him, but of course Dean being Dean, there weren't a lot that fit that bill.

“So what are we watching again?” he asks as his slides on his glasses and returns to Cas's side, completely oblivious to the way he's absorbed Cas's attention.

“Matchmaker Santa,” Cas dazedly says, shaking his head and glancing back to the screen. “The love interest is called Dean.”

Dean reaches for a piece of candy and cheekily comments when his filter's guard is down, “Something you can relate to?” As he unwraps the candy and pops it in his mouth, he looks at Cas from the corner of his eye and gives a big grin, the chocolate pushed to the side of his mouth and bulging from his cheek.

“You wish, Winchester,” retorts a smirking Cas, but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes.

The sentences _'Only some of the time', 'Yeah, and?', 'With every fibre of my damn being'_ and _'Tell me you do too'_ float around in his head but he does not blurt out any of them.

“You know you're comin' with me to Sam and Jess's for Christmas, don't you?” Dean mumbles against something soft and too warm to be the couch, but that last part doesn't register to his sleepy mind.

“I am?” The soft and warm thing vibrates and Dean's face tickles, and he realises that he must be using Cas's chest as a pillow, a willing Cas at that.

“Yeah,” he says, slightly more awake and aware now he knows that all his weight must be on his friend. “You're not spendin' Christmas alone. Everyone's gone home for the holidays apart from Jo and Garth, and Jo's gonna be workin' in The Roadhouse over break and Garth'll just whine the whole time about how he can't spend the holiday with his girl when he's not Skyping her. You're comin' with me, end of.”

Cas lets out a small, tired laugh, and clumsily places his hand on top of Dean's head. “Thank you,” he whispers, allowing his hand to linger longer than necessary. His fingers run through Dean's hair a few times and then Dean thinks his cheek might have been lightly caressed, but he's not entirely sure, still drifting above that thin line between the dreams of his unconsciousness and real life.

He yawns out an, “I know,” and has no idea why.

“Hey, where are my glasses?” Dean asks when he belatedly realises that they are not shmushed on Cas's chest like his face is.

“I took them off when you fell asleep on me,” replies Cas. “I thought it might have been a ploy to break them so you wouldn't have to wear them.”

Dean snorts. “As much as I hate 'em, I ain't breakin' 'em. Those fuckers were expensive.”

“You should embrace them,” he distantly hears Cas remark.

“Nah, I'd just break 'em,” Dean says, smiling into Cas's chest. “Get it?”

A short chuckle rumbles through Castiel. “Yes, I like that. You used the physical envisioning of the word to make that joke.”

“I know what I did.” He lazily smiles again, and it borders on goofy but Dean can't help it when Cas is just so damn cute, and when every time Cas talks he gets a fuzzy feeling in his stomach. “You're so easy to please sometimes,” Dean adds in a happy sigh. “Now go to sleep.”

“But what about -”

Dean plops his hand over Cas's face. “No. I’m comfy. Go to sleep.”

After a beat, Cas says, “Okay,” and settles further into the couch, encircling Dean's waist with an arm and pulling him into an exhausted embrace. _It's totally fine,_ Dean tells himself, _just like when Ross and Joey did it on Friends. It doesn't mean anything._

And it still doesn't mean anything when a sleeping Cas snakes a hand up his back, or when Dean does the same to Cas's front.

The drive to Jess's parents' winter cabin in Montana, where Sam and Jess had been allowed to spend Christmas together, technically could have been done in a day and a night, had Dean trusted Cas to drive his car for more than a half hour at a time, but as he hadn't, they'd had to stop and rest at a motel in North Dakota, just past the Minnesota border.

“Jeez, it's like a sauna in here,” Dean pants, quickly stripping himself of all unnecessary layers and throwing them and his duffel on the nearest bed. He runs his hands along the walls in search for a thermostat, but has no luck in finding one and groans at the uncomfortable heat creeping into his cold extremities, shooing away any signs of winter and threatening to bead in the most unwelcome of places.

“Why couldn't the temperature have been this warm in your car?” grumbles Cas, who does the same but goes further in his attempt to prevent himself from overheating by pulling his shirt over his head, shocking his friend with his torso so much Dean falls into silence and goes wide-eyed.

“What?” Cas asks unapologetically. “It's as arid as the desert in here.” When Dean doesn't close his gaping mouth, he rolls his eyes and says, “It's nothing you haven't seen before, Dean, and as I recall, you also had your hand up my shirt the other night, so it's nothing you haven't touched, either.”

Dean looks almost sheepish as he glances away from Cas's bare chest, and a flush spreads over his face that isn't entirely due to the warmth of the room, matching the one just below Cas's neck.

“No wonder this was the cheapest room...” he mutters, itching the back of his head and pulling his lips into a grimace when he finds it sticky already.

At any other time, and in front of anyone else, Dean would remove his shirt too, but the Christmas period has tempted him into sloth and gluttony, as it always does, and he's getting that tummy pudge he hates so much again. One of his exes had once squeezed and shaped it so that his belly button was a mouth and made it talk. It didn't say very nice things, and even though he didn't think Cas would make fun of it, he would surely notice and judge him. All the guys Cas dated and slept with were honed and toned to near chiselled perfection, and Cas himself jogged too much for any of his indulgences to cling on, so there is no question in Dean's mind that a few extra pounds are in any way attractive to his friend.

Cas shocks him even more by ridding himself of his pants too, and standing wide-legged after, just in his elf print boxers, hands on hips, head back, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks in the cheap, dim, flickering light, and with his pink lips parted in a silent exhale.

“This...this is much cooler,” he breathes, before suddenly remembering that Dean is in the room with him and casting his shy and knowing gaze at him. “You should try it too, it feels amazing.”

He walks into the bathroom, leaving the door open a creak, and Dean calls, “Don't think I don't know you're trying to initiate me into your weird nudist ways!”

“You wouldn't think they were weird if you just tried walking around naked once in a while, Dean!” Cas calls back as he runs the no doubt shitty shower. “It can be very freeing, and it relaxes me. It would relax you,” he adds, and Dean can almost see the incline of Cas's head that matches his tone.

He'd first heard of Cas's 'weird nudist ways' from Jo, who had come home early due to a cancelled class and found Cas in the kitchen, cooking up pasta and naked as the day he was born. Apparently, Jo had screamed, and Cas had covered himself with a tea towel, apologising when he was yelled at. Dean's biggest concern was for his beloved kitchen, and if he needed to sterilise any surface Cas's ass might have been, and Jo had yelled at him about his priorities.

When Jo had recovered from the shock and stopped yelling at him, she delighted in recounting to Dean everything about Castiel's lithe runner's body, from the muscles no one would have suspected were there under the sweaters to the organ hanging between his legs that was 'surprisingly impressive flaccid', according to Jo.

Dean had never had the pleasure of walking in on Cas as she had, though had definitely fantasised about it and what he might do upon finding Cas like that, but now that he was presented with the opportunity, he was holding back. Definitely because of his insecurities about his little squidgy tummy, and definitely not because of his fears that Cas would not reciprocate.

He elects to neglect the warm pyjama pants he brought with him, and hopes to God that his dick doesn't perk up with the excitement of the prospect of living out one of its fantasies and tent his plain, unchristmassy, bah humbug boxers. Patterns on underwear are for kids, douches, and hipsters, especially the ones with patterns oriented around the holiday season. Dean changes into one of his lighter, softer t-shirts, one he was just planning to wear under a bunch of other shirts, and slides into his bed, contentedly sighing at the feel of the cool sheets. He's just dropping off to the deep, melodic sound of Cas singing one of his favourite showtunes, the tune reverberating around the tiles in a way that would be far too relaxing if Dean were awake enough to care, when the squeak of the shower knob makes him jump and pulls him from the four hours he was about to get a start on. His startled scrambling of the sheets elicits a huff of laughter from across the room, and he must have voiced the expletives running through his mind in a loud mumble because Cas quietly apologises and places a damp towel over his head.

“Wha's this for?” Dean's croak is muffled, but it's not all that grumpy because that towel feels so nice against his furnace of a face.

“To keep you cool in the night. And also so you can't see me. I am...very undressed, right now. I know how much you don't like it,” Cas says, almost contrite.

Dean frowns into the towel, and his exhaustion betrays him. “'S not that I don't like it, 's 'that I kinda _do._ ”

“What?” He can't see Cas's face, and he's not sure he wants to. Dean hopes that he just couldn't hear him, not that he was alarmed by the statement he didn't plan on saying.

“Um, I – I – uh, um,” Dean stutters, fairly sure that his embarrassment has evaporated any water the towel held. “W-What I said is that...I was just sayin' thanks, y'know, for the towel. Thanks. Thank you.”

It's quiet for a second, and he can feel Cas's X-ray vision on his features, studying them and analysing them, can hear the easy cogs whirring in that big brain of his, can smell the soap Cas used in his shower, could probably touch the tension that's not just constricting his chest, and it's too much. Before Cas can say anything back, or even realise, properly, what Dean's tongue let loose, Dean hastily wishes him _goodnight_ and pretends to fall asleep while Cas hums with thought every so often. He can't help wondering what those thoughts are, but eventually his strange dreams take him, the kind of strange dreams wherein Cas is a beekeeper and somehow Dean is his favourite bee.

So much for dreams meaning anything.

As soon as Dean opens his eyes, he scrunches them shut again. Cas's tanned ass is protruding from the covers on the next bed, below a back glowing with perspiration in a totally, _totally_ hot way, and his hair, where it is usually an incredibly dark brown, is black from sweat and sticking up in all directions. Dean can only imagine what he himself looks like. He and heat have never really gotten along, and he certainly doesn't look as good as Cas does in the throes of overheated sleep.

He pads to the bathroom, his eyes never wandering back to Cas once, gets naked, and takes a look in the rust-spotted mirror before running himself a cold shower. Dean snorts as his suspicions are confirmed. There's a thin sheen of sweat covering his body, and a pink blush is spread over his chest, neck, and face, making the freckles he has everywhere stand out like black sheep amongst a white-woolled herd. His blond hair, turning a light brown already month by month, is made ashen blond by the sudor matting it, and beads of it are running down his temples even now. The imagined stench of what he will smell like once the sweat has dried is horrific, and Dean jumps in the shower and scrubs every inch of himself with the provided motel soap until he is clean and cool. The cold rivulets of water running down his body feel so good that he moans softly, and he wonders if the air would feel the same way should he ever emulate Cas's habits and walk around in the nude.

Dean decides to try it out in the future, just the once, to see if Cas is on to something.

He gets out and wraps the towel around his hips, and when he opens the door he's welcomed by what appears to be a Greek God doing pilates. Cas has wrapped a sheet around himself as though it were a toga, holding it in place at his shoulder while he's dropped in a lunge and his other arm is palm down, pointing towards the bed. His eyes are closed, his face serene, and Dean can't look away. While odd, the picture is captivating, with the morning light peeking through the strip between the partially drawn curtains and careering off into thin beams when it hits Cas's body.

Cas raises a brow and opens an eye, flicking his gaze up and down Dean's dripping figure with a minute smirk. “Did you have a pleasant shower?” he asks, and there's something in the undertones of that question that Dean can't quite figure out.

“Yeah, it was good,” he warily replies. “You can go ahead and take yours, once you're done with saluting the sun or whatever.”

“The Sun Salutation is yoga, Dean,” Cas says as he changes his pose to fold himself in half. His face can be seen from between his shins, and his ass, covered this time, is practically screaming for Dean to look at it. _Does Cas know what he does to me?_ Dean inwardly rhetorics as he actively avoids checking his best friend out.

The only thought that makes him feel slightly better about the leering he is trying so hard not do do is the fact that he likes Cas for his mind, for his personality and his humour and his kindness, but of course it doesn't hurt that such a person comes in such beautifully presented packaging.

Dean adjusts the towel around his waist in a way that makes it seem natural, and not because of any outward factors creating an uncomfortable feeling around his crotch area, and says, “Right. Well, we're hittin' the road in forty, so don't take too long. I wanna see my little brother before it's past his bedtime.”

A huff of laughter passes Cas's lips, and he stretches himself out stiff as a board, with his fingertips almost touching the ceiling. The homemade toga starts unravelling from its haphazard knot and threatens to slip down _the whole way,_ and Dean had _just cooled down dammit_ so isn't letting _one stupidly handsome naked man_ fluster him. He rapidly strides up to his friend and saves both of their dignities (well, maybe not Cas's, he seems to get off on being naked around people) by stopping the sheet from sliding down his frame and fisting the material around Cas's waist, gathering the excess around his thigh and pulling it all up again to tie a better knot.

He meets Cas's confusing stare, and says, “You're welcome,” with a proud grin on his face.

“You go to extraordinary lengths to avoid seeing my penis,” Cas comments, and Dean chokes on the saliva he was just swallowing. “I am quite offended.”

There it is again, that completely puzzling look on Cas's face, and it's as though they're just starting out as friends again, because Dean is clueless as to whether he is kidding around or not. His gut roils at the thought that this crush he has is ruining one of the best platonic friendships he has ever had, if not _the_ best, and he hates it. He hates the way he feels, hates the way it makes him act. He'd hate Cas for making him feel everything he has done, but he can't, because it's Cas, and he could never hate Cas. Could never even try, wouldn't dare, not after all the things they've done together the things they've done for each other, or the memories they've made in the last three years.

But here they are, him in a towel and Cas in a sheet, and it's as though they're at square one again, with less clothes that the first time, and it's the hand rummaging around in his intestines that lets Dean know that it's his fault. The hand that holds the Chance card commanding, _'You and player two must return to the start.'_ He took that chance when he allowed his dumb crush to take hold and evolve into something more than a crush, and now he has to live with the consequences.

Cas _must_ have noticed that something was up, right? But it doesn't seem like he has when he lightly says, suddenly frighteningly close to Dean, “Is it because you wouldn't be able to resist if you saw it?”

Dean laughs, and he hopes to God it's not as shaky as his hands.

“You wish, Novak” he quips, smirking into Cas's baby blues and batting his lashes. The atmosphere fizzes as Castiel opens his mouth to say something, but fizzles out when he closes it again, and his eyes look, well, _blue_ and melancholic as he steps away, leaving Dean feeling hollow. He thought he'd be glad to be rid of the hand in his belly, but at least when it was there he could feel his heart beat against his chest and his pulse throb through his veins.

They're on the road again, and Cas insists that Dean blow on his hands to warm them up. Dean obliges, even if it's with a comment about how his breath is no warmer than Cas's, and secretly delights in taking his friend's soft hands in one of his and putting his hot breath to use. He can't stop grinning into it, and although the giddiness is due to more than his breathing techniques, he can't find it in himself to care, and Dean finds Cas grinning back.

They're still on the road, though Cas is driving this time, the very notion of which is still making Dean squirm in his seat.

“Would you please sit still? It is distracting me from driving your car, and being in a car with a distracted driver is not safe. I wouldn't want to put you – or your baby – in danger by being in such a state.”

Dean quashes his antsiness.

He's back behind the wheel, and Cas is eating a burger next to him, making some indecent noises.

“Would you please quiet down with those?” Dean asks, repressing the strange urge he has to itch his nipples.

“Sorry,” says Cas through a mouthful. “Am I distracting you?”

There's a wicked grin forming on his chewing lips as he glances sideways at Dean, and Dean can't help but shake his head, lick his lower lip and smile despite every instinct telling him to shut Cas up with his mouth.

So he settles for telling Cas with his words as _Can't Fight This Feeling_ filters through the Impala.

“Shut your cakehole and turn the radio up. No wait, I'll do it – you'll just get your greasy fingers all over her.”

“REO Speedwagon?” Cas asks dubiously. “But I thought you hated them. You said they sang from their hair.”

“And I stand by that statement, _but,_ ” he says quickly with a pointed finger in the air, elongating the vowel in the 'but', “this is a classic, and this song is my exception for them.”

Cas frowns and keeps his half-eaten burger in his hands for a few seconds, seemingly tossing something up in his head. “Do you have an exception for everything?” he tentatively asks, his voice deeper and smaller than usual.

“Course I do,” Dean says simply, and as though it's plain as day, he elaborates, “You should know that, being one of 'em.”

Seemingly alarmed and slightly breathless, Cas averts all his attention to Dean. “I'm one of your exceptions? To what?”

Dean shrugs. “To hipsters. Why, what did you think I meant?”

“I meant - Nothing. I just wondered.” Cas deflates and apparently loses his appetite, because he offers the rest of his hamburger to Dean, which he gladly sinks his teeth into within seconds. It signifies the end of the conversation, and Dean thinks that too often recently has Cas looked sad when they stop talking. He turns the song up louder, and can hear Cas's quiet croons as it plays, neglecting to observe who Cas is directing it at.

Dean knocks on the door of the cabin, gas station-bought apple pie in hand, and he turns around to beam at Cas, excitement radiating out of his every pore. Cas's face lights up as he sees Dean so happy, and his eyes sparkle as they reflect the Christmas lights, taking Dean's breath away, the last remnants of which are caught between them in a grey translucent wisp.

“Dean!” his overgrown puppy of a brother exclaims. He spins back around and wraps Sam in a bear hug, almost choking him and nearly dropping the pie.

“Sammy!” He grins over Sam's shoulder and his smile gets even wider when he sees his brother's girlfriend in the doorway. “Jessica!”

Jess gives him a stern look before saying, “Just 'Jess' is fine, thank you, Dean,” and cracking a smile as she's hugged tightly too.

“Oh,” Dean says, stepping away and walking back to a nervous Cas to present him. “This is Cas. I figured you wouldn't mind if I brought him along, it's just -”

“You didn't tell them I was coming?” Cas interrupts, aghast and anxious.

With a frown, Dean slowly says, “Well no, I figured it was fine.”

“Do you not possess any manners at all?”

Hey! I got manners, I just don't think I need to ask to bring -”

“Guys! It's fine, honestly,” Sam placates, exercising his powers of mediation on the bickering men. _He got those from me,_ Dean thinks, _from when I used to have to pull him and Dad apart with everything I had._ Sam smiles a dimpled smile at Dean's ruffled friend, and says, “I'm always happy to meet Dean's boyfriends. And girlfriends,” he hurriedly adds, “but it's a boyfriend in this case, so - anyway, I’m Sam.”

He holds out a massive paw to shake, and Cas firmly does so, though contrasts the strength by gingerly saying and correcting, “As I am very happy to meet you, Sam, but...I'm not Dean's boyfriend. We're just friends.”

“That's fine too!” Sam says brightly as Jess assures, “Dean's loss,” with a wink. She introduces herself too, and as soon as they realise that one: they are standing out in the snowing weather and two: that they are letting all the cold air into the warm cabin, they move into their holiday abode and give Dean and Cas the grand tour.

“Oh and I know you said you were happy with the sofa bed,” Sam quietly says to his brother, his shaggy hair falling in his eyes, while Jess and Cas bond over their favourite musical in the kitchen, “but where's Cas gonna sleep? I mean, there's the recliner, but it's not all that comfy, and we don't exactly have any cots lying around, so...”

Dean's heart flutters in his chest when he realises that the only solution is for him and Cas to share the sofa bed, the one that folds out from the couch right opposite the fireplace, and he can't help picturing that scene from _101 Dalmatians_ where Anita and Roger's clothes are drying by the fire while they presumably wear their birthday suits and 'get to know each other'. Bile rises in his throat at the same time his heart stops fluttering and soars instead when he re-imagines him and Cas in their places, and he swallows and attempts to maintain a sane demeanour when he says, “We'll figure something out.”

As it turns out, Jess and Cas weren't just talking Norbert something Butch, Sondheim, and Aaron Tveit (which Dean would swear are made up names as he usually does, but Cas is in the vicinity of sharp knives, so he thinks better of it). They were making hot cocoa for themselves and their Winchesters, and heating up the pie, and now they're all sat around the island on high stools with their mugs, happily making small talk and eating forkfuls of pie when Dean finally asks the question that's been on his mind since he saw Sam.

“You know...I gotta ask, man...what's with the hair? Jess tryin' to make you into a taller, less attractive Justin Beiber?”

Sam wrinkles his nose. “First of all, Dean: Ew. Is he even legal? And second, I like it. And so does Jess.”

Jess nods, a sly smile spreading over her lips as she takes a sip of her hot cocoa. “Gives me something to hold on to.”

“Nice! Look at you, Sammy, all grown up, having sex with hot girls...” Dean knows that technically he should stop there, but it's his _right_ as an older brother to poke fun at his little brother as much as possible. “Though you wouldn't know it by the hair.” He smirks and takes a victory bite of his pie, swiftly choking on it when Cas pipes up.

“You are hardly one to talk about _hair_ , Dean Winchester. If I’m remembering correctly, and we both know I am, then it was _you_ who grew his hair out last summer, to a longer length than Sam's. You would tuck it behind your ears and flick it out of your eyes, and Jo threatened to braid it if you didn't cut it.”

It goes silent. Sam looks as though he's just won the lottery, his hazel eyes are so wide and full of glee, and the goofy gaping smile he has on his face does not mean good things for Dean, who is staring murderously at his supposed best friend.

“I don't believe you,” says Jess, resolute with a twinkle in her eye. “I'm going to need photographic evidence.”

“Oh, I have photos,” Cas says, chuckling, and he slides his phone from his pocket to unlock it and swipe through his pictures. “Here. We were going out bar hopping – no, I think we were going to try to crash a party, and the dress code was smart. Yes, we were, but we got turned away, naturally, no matter how much Dean insisted we were on the list, because no one who had a respectable job would have their hair so...so...what's the word I’m looking for?”

“...Surfer dude?” suggests Sam, and he and Jess fall about laughing while Cas just agrees and smiles fondly, but everything is just background noise and blurs to Dean as he remembers that night.

He and Cas had gotten all dressed up, and Cas had looked particularly becoming in a fitted three-piece suit, he remembered thinking. Dean didn't look so bad himself, he thought, and he had kinda liked his hair at the time, no matter how many of his friends took pleasure in making fun of it. Cas had never made fun of it though. He had even _defended_ it on the odd occasion, and had held it back with his fingers whenever he was the sober friend helping out the vomiting friend who's parents had still only recently passed away and was coping with it by imbibing copious amounts of alcohol.

Dean catches his eye, and Cas mouths _Sorry_ at him with beseeching eyes. He shakes his head back at him, happy to be the cause of the raucous laughter coming from his brother. Dean hasn't heard Sam laugh like that in months, not since before their parents were alive, anyway, so he watches his little brother, his Sammy, laugh and joke at his expense, because in the grand scheme of things, Sam's happy, and that's all that matters. Everything is right in the world when Sam scrunches his eyes up and laughs with every part of his being.

And just when he thinks he's calmed down, Sam looks at his big brother, snorts, points, and shakes with silent giggles in his chair. He grabs Cas's sleeve when he can get words out and declares, “Cas; you're awesome. Seriously. Tell me all of Dean's embarrassing stories.”

“Only if you promise to share some in return,” Cas counters with a pointed stare and a small smile.

Jess throws her head back and expels a tinkling laugh. “Are you kidding? That's his favourite pastime!” she says, lacing her fingers with Sam's and resting her head on his shoulder.

Dean hopes to God that Cas doesn't tell the story about Rhonda Hurley.

“And you're sure you don't mind? Sharing?”

“I said I was perfectly fine with it, and the fact that you're overreacting about it leads me to believe that _you're_ the one who minds. I’m not going to take advantage of you while you're asleep, Dean, or take off my pyjamas in the night.”

“God Cas, way to be pissy. Don't be such a fuckin' ass. It's not that I care that you're _gay_ or that you like to sleep in the buff. Why would I? You think I’m some sort of homophobe? 'Cause I’m bi, if you've forgotten, so I don't think that's technically possible, and I don't have my head up my ass enough to think that you'd wanna come on to me, anyway. Plus, I know you're not gonna strip, because you're not a fuckin' idiot.”

Cas pauses, processing what Dean's just said, before replying, “So I’m an ass, but not an idiot?”

“Exactly.”

“Hmph. That seems apt,” Cas says quietly, his tone not revealing any sarcasm.

With a snort, Dean remarks, “Good to know you think so highly of yourself.”

“Well, my self esteem is _bound_ to be through the roof when I have you telling me I’m a fucking ass, amongst other things.”

“Shut up and go the fuck to sleep, Cas,” Dean snaps.

“Gladly.”

Cas rolls so his back is to Dean, and lets out angry breaths as he tries to drop off. He can be a stubborn son of a bitch, but so can Dean, and neither is relenting. Dean certainly isn't, he isn't the one who got all irritable over making sure their friendship wouldn't be ruined by a couple of nights in the same bed, so Cas should be the one to apologise. _What was that about, anyway?_ Cas had just...snapped, something Dean had rarely seen before, and none of it was even accurate. _Of course_ Cas isn't going to make a move in the middle of the night, and _of course_ he isn't going to shuck out of his pyjamas, because Cas respects him, and doesn't want to make things awkward.

For someone who's not a fucking idiot, Cas can be such a fucking idiot sometimes.

Dean hopes they wake up tomorrow with everything fine again, because Cas came with him to avoid drama or loneliness, or at least that's why Dean brought him along, because he cares about his best friend, and he's in the middle of regretting the whole stupid argument and how he's managed to fuck things up between them _more_ when a hand rests lightly on his shoulder.

“Dean?” whispers Cas. “Are you still awake?”

“Yeah,” he grunts.

Cas shuffles a little closer, and Dean can just about make out his face in the darkness. He looks like a kicked puppy. Great. Now Dean feels even better.

“I'm sorry,” Cas says softly.

Letting out a breath of relief, Dean gently admits, “Me too.”

“My mother says you should never go to bed angry, and I don't like you being angry at me. I don't like being angry at you. It doesn't feel right. I keep thinking you're going to tell me to go, and I can't, I don't have anywhere to go, I don't have enough money to catch a bus back to Chicago, and I don't want to be alone, and I want to give you your gifts, and -”

“Cas, shut up. I’m not gonna tell you to go, don't be stupid. You're my best friend, of course I’m not gonna let you be alone, and I’m not gonna make you get a bus back to Chicago. I wouldn't put you on one of those, they're germ-mobiles, and I don't want you getting sick 'cause some snotty kid wiped his nose on one of your sweaters. I just wanted to make sure this” - he gestures to them and the sofa bed - “was okay, because if it's not, then I can take the recliner. Seriously. I don't wanna make things awkward."

“But we slept on the couch together the other night,” Cas points out. “And things aren't awkward, are they?”

“...Aren't they?”

“What? Are they?” Sounding hurt, Cas pushes himself up to examine Dean's face, with only the embers of the fire for light to see.

“You don't think I’ve been acting...” Dean struggles for words that aren't 'like a teenage girl with a silly crush'. “Weird?”

“I thought you may have been nervous about merging your college life and your family life. Is it not that?”

“No. I don't know what it is,” Dean lies. By the pause afterwards, it's evident that Cas knows he's lying too, because if he believed him, he would have given him a short, honest pep talk, but Cas just hums.

“Okay. Tell me when you know what it is,” Cas sleepily requests, laying back down and yawning after. “Are you still mad at me?”

Dean turns his head on the pillow to look at him through half-lidded eyes. “Could never be. What about you? You still mad at me?”

The pillow next to him makes a scuffling noise, and he guesses that it's Cas shaking his head. “You're impossible to stay mad at. Especially when you did nothing wrong.”

“I did plenty wrong,” Dean says quietly, but he doesn't get a reply, because Cas's head lolls onto his shoulder as he hops on board the train to dreamland.

He lets his head rest on Cas's and hopes he's not too late for the same train.

It's just him and Jess in the cabin when he wakes up, as Cas and Sam have gone for a morning run, so they make breakfast for themselves, frying some extra bacon and eggs for when the joggers return.

“There's a few markets in the village closest to here,” Jess says after her first few bites. “Do you think Cas would like it? I want to go, so I thought I should ask. Maybe give Sam and you a chance to catch up.”

Dean exhales a breath of alleviation, and gives Jess a nod and a smile. She's perceptive, certainly, and he's thankful that she realises he needs some time with his little brother, alone. He couldn't have wished for Sam to fall in love with a better person. When he had first heard Sam drop her name in every other word of their conversation, Dean was worried that Jess might be one of those girlfriends who couldn't stand to be apart from him, desperate and clingy like Becky in Sam's sophomore year, or one who didn't understand that Sam had a life outside of her, but his concerns were null and void the moment he met her.

“Cas'd love it,” he says, his lips curving when he imagines how Cas's face is going to light up at everything uniquely small town and _Christmas._ “But make sure he doesn't buy every ugly holiday sweater on the rail, okay? He has more than enough.”

“I don't know about that, he was saying yesterday about how much he wanted to get one for every day of December,” Jess giggles.

With a half-groan half-laugh, Dean says, “Oh man, really? We _talked_ about this! He can't have one for _every day_ of December, what about the week after Christmas?! It's impractical and dorky, that's what it is.”

“Are we talking about Dean's hair from last summer again?” a breathless voice calls from the lounge, getting louder as it gets nearer. Sam appears in the doorway, sweaty and grinning.

“No, we're talking about _your_ hair, nerd,” Dean retorts as Jess leaves the table to greet her man and give him a long _good morning_ kiss.

She points upwards when she pulls away, and Sam's grin gets wider when he sees the green sprig with white berries hanging above them. “I put them in a couple of places just after you guys left,” Jess gleefully admits. “It's not Christmas until you've kissed someone under the mistletoe, right?”

“Right,” Sam softly confirms, just before he growls and takes her mouth with his, eliciting a squeal from her. She grabs his head with both hands and pulls on his hair, and the happy couple don't part lips until Dean throws a rubber spatula at their joined faces.

Jess smirks and walks out, tapping Sam's ass on her way, and Dean hears, “Cas! Do you wanna come to the markets with me today?”

“I would love to,” Cas replies, and from the kitchen Dean can hear the delighted surprise in his voice. He smiles at the picture in his head, of Cas's eyes wide and bright, happiness caught on his lips that are a little dry from the run, and only checks himself when he realises that the goofy grin on his face matches Sam's _exactly_ , and he can't have that because Sam has just kissed the woman he loves with all the passion he has in his big heart, and Dean is just conjuring up the image of Cas's felicity.

Cas appears in the doorway as Sam did, grinning and sweaty, with his dark hair plastered down to his forehead with both sweat and snow, and with snowflakes still stuck on his eyelashes. He says a curt, “Good morning,” to Dean and smiles at him before puzzlement washes over his features as Jess shrieks with laughter.

“What is it?” he asks, frowning.

“Yeah, what are you -” Dean cuts himself off as he realises exactly what Jess is laughing at. “Oh God,” he mutters, and Jess finally manages to point a finger above Sam and Cas's heads, cluing them in too.

Sam looks up again, having suddenly remembered the mistletoe in the doorway, and sheepishly shrugs and grimaces at the shorter man opposite him. Excusing his girlfriend's giggles, he explains in one word, “Mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe...” Cas says wondrously, before casting a guilty look at Dean and grimacing himself. “So do we have to...?”

“Kiss? Absolutely!” Jess pipes up, her curly hair bobbing with excitement. “Get into the Christmas spirit, guys, come on!”

Dean watches as his best friend and his brother inch their faces towards each other's, Cas tilting his up, Sam looking down and flicking his gaze between Cas's eyes and his mouth, and they're both still out of breath from their run, so their chests are heaving, and their muscles are still glistening with sweat, even more so when Cas lifts a hand and places it on Sam's cheek, almost caressing it, and when Sam guides their lips together by cupping Cas's jaw and bringing it nearer _that's_ when Dean feels like maybe that bacon wasn't cooked all the way through.

He can't look away, and even though there's no tongue in the kiss, just seeing their lips lingering on each other's is enough, and as there are no more rubber spatulas left in his vicinity, Dean has to say something.

“Alright, alright you two, enough already.”

They pull apart, exchanging timid looks after, and Jess sighs contentedly. “Merry Christmas to me,” she breathes, a her mouth in a satisfied line. “Okay, both of you take a shower – not together, obviously, unless I can watch that too – and then we'll go to the markets, Cas, is that okay?”

Cas nods, a blush coming over his face, and without missing a beat and as chipper as ever, Sam says, “Sounds great!” and calls the first shower. Jess plants another smooch on him, this time without the prompting of mistletoe, and ushers him into the bathroom because 'the sooner he is clean the sooner Cas can be clean and the sooner she can be shopping'.

Still feeling like he needs to throw up, Dean moves to the sink so he can refill his glass with water again and again while he downs as much as possible to get the bad taste out of his mouth. Around the fourth glass, his left side gets a little warmer, and a shoulder nudges his.

“Are you alright? You look a little pale, and you're drinking water, which is a sight rarely seen.”

He cracks the tiniest of smiles, glancing at Cas to see a soft, earnest expression looking back at him. “I'm fine, just feelin' a little sick, that's all.”

“Let's hope the apple pie we ate last night didn't betray you,” Cas says, trying so hard to be jovial. It doesn't suit him to be so deliberately full of mirth, to smile as wide as he is. The words are his, sure, but the way he says them and the way he delivers it - it's as though Dean's watching bad stand up comedy.

Dean grunts his agreement and takes another gulp of water. The warmth at his side hasn't wavered, and he's guiltily glad that Cas hasn't made like a tree even when things are a little awkward because of the mistletoe incident. He decides to throw Cas a bone, as a thank you for sticking around through all the times Dean has vomited, and for all Cas knows, that file could be added to in five minutes, and he's still here, so Dean nudges their sides and asks, “How was the run?”

Cas looks at him for a second, his gaze loaded with bewilderment, before nudging him right back again and answering simply, “We ran.”

“I wouldn't have guessed.” Dean snorts, bumping his side into Cas's with more force than any of his previous ones.

“Are you trying to provoke me, Winchester?” growls Cas with a murderous glint in his eye. “Because you _know_ that you will not prevail.”

Dean laughs, a hollow one, because Cas knows better than to challenge him. They've play-fought before, and it's always been neck and neck. Now they have the chance to 'duel' again, in an arena that neither of them are ultimately or intimately familiar with. They're playing away, and Dean plans to win.

“Come on, Novak; you and me, in the lounge, _now._ ”

“I am going to break you,” Cas warns lowly.

“Looking forward to it,” Dean returns. Thing is, he really _is_ looking forward to it. The blood is pumping through his veins faster than a speeding bullet, he's vibrating with his potential power, more so than a locomotive, and with the adrenaline rushing through him he feels as though he could leap the tallest building in a single bound, and – wait, that's the opening spiel from _Superman_ , but it still applies to the feeling of excitement buzzing through him.

They opt not to fold up the sofa bed, just in case one of them needs a soft landing (“So you then?” “No, it'll be _you_ needing the soft landing!”) and circle one another, taunting, trash-talking, and egging the other on.

It's Dean that makes the first move, launching himself towards his friend in a rugby tackle, but Cas elegantly dodges it, using a leg to then trip him up, and they're lucky that it's a big lounge and that Jess's parents prefer the minimalistic style, because nothing's broken or ruined by their rough housing. As soon as Dean's on the floor, Cas helps him up for round two, which includes various headlocks and casual stomach punches, and this time it's Cas who ends up on the floor, near the tree – but only to take Dean down with him. They roll around, barely missing the coffee table with their heads, and eventually Dean uses a full body lock, his body enveloping Cas's with his arms under Cas's shoulder and behind his head.

But he doesn't help Cas up as Cas helped him up. Sure, Dean lets him out of the body lock, but he immediately sits on his knees and pins him down, and his frustration is coming out in light slaps and punches. He's letting his damn emotions get in the way, the pure irritation in his heart trying to expel itself through violence, and Cas is just _taking it_ , he's not even trying to fight back, and that makes it worse. Tears are prickling behind his eyes and brewing in his chest, but he blinks them away and swallows them down, the action made harder by his tight throat which is the only thing stopping him from screaming _you kissed my brother you asshole and you liked it and you don't like me but who cares I don't wanna kiss you anyway 'cause you got a stupid mouth and it doesn't wanna kiss mine and it hurts Cas it hurts and -_

“Are you finished?” Cas's deep, quiet voice cuts through the words he's repressing, and Dean realises that while he's still on top of Cas, his head is hanging down, and his arms are limp on Cas's chest, exhausted from their flurry moments ago. Hands are over his, anchoring him, and Cas is looking up at him like he's breaking his heart.

_Yeah, like I could break his heart._

“No,” Dean answers, slapping Cas's bare arm and hearing the satisfying noise that accompanies it. “There, now I’m done.”

“Good, I’m glad that's all out of your system, because now I can do _this._ ” As he says the final word, Cas rolls and flips them around, so he's on top of Dean, straddling him so his ankles are locking Dean's from kicking, and holding Dean's hands above his head to restrain them from punching.

He gets dangerously close to Dean's face, his blue eyes blazing with the heat of the fight and reflecting the flames licking the logs in the fireplace a few feet away, and his lips ghost over Dean's jaw until they are cheek to cheek.

“I'm not going to ask what that was about, because you looked like you needed it, and I know you don't like vocalising the thoughts you have in your head. So I will forget about it until if you choose to remind me. Does that sound agreeable?”

A grateful Dean nods imperceptibly, but what can't be seen can be felt, and when Cas feels their stubble scratch together, he switches back to the fight, and his victory.

”Now, I told you I would break you,” Cas triumphantly whispers into his ear. “And I could, right now, but you need to be taught a lesson.”

“Oh yeah? Well sign me up for more classes, teach, 'cause they're really taking my breath away,” Dean strains. “Seriously, will you let up a little?”

Cas wiggles, pressing the bones of his butt further into Dean's stomach, and revelling in the wheeze he gets in return.

“Is that better?” he purrs, his words shooting straight from Dean's ear to his dick, his mouth still oh-so-present in a place that Dean wants kissed.

Dean wills his burgeoning erection away, though nor the smell or image he has of Cas's strong neck is helping, and says, “Much. Now, are we done here? 'Cause you need to take a shower and get changed into one of your ugly sweaters.”

Those flashing eyes meet his again, and even though it looks like Cas wants to say something, he doesn't, and he releases the hold he has on Dean. Rubbing his wrists, Dean sits up and leans against the TV cabinet, finally able to breathe properly again.

“Man, I don't know whether I should feel sorry or not for the guys you sleep with,” he remarks, smirking at Cas, who sits next to him cross-legged.

With a tilt of his head, Cas draws his brows together and asks, “Why would you feel sympathy for them?”

“'Cause you're rough, dude.”

“And you think that because I am rough when I _rough house,_ that I enjoy partaking in rough sex?”

Dean splutters. “Jeez, Cas, I just meant -”

“Oh I know what you meant, Dean, and you shouldn't feel sorry for them at all. They like it rough too.” With that, Cas gets up and walks into the bathroom, leaving Dean feeling flustered and more than a little turned on.

Jess and Cas leave within the hour, Jess in a thick, white woollen coat, and Cas in not one, not two but _three_ sweaters, the one on show being a bottle green knit with red trimmings and a black Santa in the centre. The brothers wave them off, and when they're out of sight, past the corner at the end of the lane, they retrieve a couple of beers from the fridge and kick back by the fire.

“So, Cas is cool,” Sam starts with an encouraging smile. “You want me to hang some of Jess's mistletoe above you guys any time soon?”

“What? No! It's not like that,” Dean says firmly, and the look he gets back from his little brother is exactly like one that Missouri, their old neighbour back home, would give him if he so much as thought about putting his feet on her coffee table.

He relays this to Sam, who rolls his eyes and says, “You know she would be giving you the exact same look if she heard the bullshit you were spewing just now.”

“Uh, it's not bullshit, Sam, it's the truth. He's my best friend. I mean, he was there after mom and dad died, he was the one who pulled me outta bars and made me throw up the purple nurple's I'd been drinking. He practically fed and watered me, man, got me back on the right track at college, actually made me _laugh_.”

Sam scrunches up his face in bemusement, and after a beat, declares “Yeah, I fail to see how you've just proved that Cas isn't in love with you.”

The top half of Dean's face frowns while his lips pull back in an abashed smile, and he shakes his head, holding his hands palm up almost in a plea. “In love -? Who said anything about Cas being in love with me? Who _could_ be in love with _that_ level of pathetic, is the point I was making, I mean come on, Sam! I must have been like a child to him, a kid that got lumped on him in a bad divorce settlement, I was a freakin' _burden_ -”

“You weren't a burden, Dean, you were _grieving_ , and you can't tell me that Cas doesn't love you. That he's not _in_ love with you. Last night, when we were talking about you, his eyes were just so full of light and happiness and _love_ , and this morning, he had this dopey smile on his face, and when I asked why he said because you did something funny when he left the bed, and” - Sam sighs exasperatedly - “you're sleeping in the same bed, Dean!”

Dean shakes his head. “Cas isn't in love with me. He would never like me in that way. Plus, even if you did hang that damn mistletoe above our heads, I couldn't kiss him, because _you've_ kissed him, so it would be like kissing you.”

“But you _want_ to kiss him?”

“No. You sullied him.”

“I sullied him,” Sam flatly repeats.

With a sniff, Dean crosses his arms. “Yeah.”

“Sure you're just not scared?” prods Sam. “'Cause you shouldn't be. He loves you.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“He loves you. He loves you he loves you he loves you,” Sam sings, grinning, and suddenly he's seven years old again with a gap in his front teeth and thick curls dropping out of his hair.

Dean throws a cushion at his little brother's head. “Go make your shitty eggnog, bitch, and then we can reminisce and get misty-eyed about our parents while we get drunk off it.”

And make shitty eggnog Sam does, and get misty-eyed about their parents they do until their other halves return from the markets, their hands white from the handles of the hefty plastic bags they're carrying, their fingers red from the cold, and Dean is sure glad that he bought Cas gloves for Christmas. Cas and Jess end up joining them in drinking the heavily-spiked eggnog, and drunken merriment fills ever corner of the cabin.

It's silent at the breakfast table, save for the sound of chewing and other eating noises, as well as the ticking of the wooden clock on the wall.

“So,” Dean croaks, “What do we all remember from last night?”

The other three groan at the noise.

“'Cause I remember next to nothing,” he half laughs, hoping to get something, anything from either one of them, just to rid himself of the sense of foreboding he has.

Jess takes a gulp of orange juice before murmuring, “You sat on Cas's lap and promised you had been a good boy this year. I think you bounced a little, too.”

Cas blushes and nods. “I, um, actually remember that,” he says, his voice sounding as though he's been swallowing gravel and not baked beans. He runs a hand through his dark mass of hair, finger-combing the knots out, and avoids Dean's eyes. This morning, they had woken wound around each other, half naked, and Cas's hand had been kneading Dean's soft tummy while Dean's hands had been in Cas's hair and stroking his warm back. It had been too gratifying for either of them to admit, but they had pretended to wake up at the same time, awkwardly enough, so both knew of their night-time predicament, and knew that the other knew too.

“And didn't Dean get all grumpy at one point?” Jess remembers.

“Yeah,” Sam distantly recalls. “Why was it again?”

Jess suddenly lets out a short burst of laughter, startling everyone, and says, “Because Cas said that you, Sam, were 'an incredibly attractive man' and then said that you and Dean looked nothing alike.”

Managing a genuine, while tired, smile, Sam turns to Cas and says, “You think I’m incredibly attractive?”

“...Yes.” Cas blushes and nods again.

“Thanks, man, that means a lot,” Sam cheerily replies, clapping Cas on the shoulder.

“Oh,” Dean says, jealousy flaring up in him once again. Maybe it's for the best that he can't remember that part. “What about you, Sammy – remember anything else?”

Sam crunches on the raw carrot he's eating for breakfast. “You tried to cut my hair with Jess's nail scissors and she hit you for trying to take her property. Her words.”

“Wow, Jess, I never thought you'd be the type of girl to get mad over nail stuff,” comments Dean, raising both eyebrows in surprise.

“I was talking about his hair,” Jess replies murderously.

Before any more of Dean's drunken antics can emerge, he suggests an all-day Christmas movie marathon. Although hungover, they all agree, as it's Christmas Eve and they haven't exactly got plans for anything else. Jess pulls Sam into the lounge so they can set up the DVD player, leaving Dean and Cas in the kitchen, alone.

“It was very pleasant,” Cas blurts, startling Dean into dropping his fork. “Waking up this morning. With you. Even though I had a headache. I – I just thought I should tell you that.”

The short sentences Cas comes out with are flustered, and he's being far too cute for Dean to ignore, so he doesn't say anything yet, just reaches along the table to pull on the hood of the sweater he gave Cas for Christmas. He flicks the cherry bobble playfully, albeit wearily, and imitates the small smile Cas always sends his way.

“I kinda liked it too,” he says, trying not to make too much out of it, but the beam Cas gives him is almost blinding, and he finds himself beaming back. Sam's words come back to him, whispering _he loves you he loves you he loves you,_ and for the first time, Dean wonders if they're really true.

He takes his and Cas's empty plates over to the sink, soaking them for later washing, and inclines his head in a way that suggests they join the hosts. Cas silently agrees, and too caught up in each other's stares, they find themselves caught shoulder to shoulder in the door frame.

“Oh my God,” Sam utters, and Jess claps her hands with gaiety when she sees the quandary they're in.

“Oh my God,” Dean echoes, his voice slightly strangled from the way his head is tilted up to the sprig of mistletoe above them.

Cas tugs on the bottom of Dean's shirt. “We don't have to, you know,” he says, his gaze cast down at his fingers playing with the material and his thumbs running along the seam.

“Are you kidding?” Dean gently asks, sliding his shaking fingers through Cas's fidgeting ones and allowing himself to hold hands with the guy he's totally in love with for only a few seconds before placing them back at Cas's sides. “I don't back down from this kind of stuff. You shoulda seen me when I used to play spin the bottle – everyone got kissed, even the geeks with braces, and even the guys, and actually I’m pretty sure that's when I knew I was -”

“Oh, just kiss already!” yells Jess.

Cas's lips curve in a smile at Dean's rambling, and Dean shoots an apologetic look at him before tentatively moving his face forward a few centimetres and closing his eyes. He feels a thumb stroke the freckles on his cheekbone, and then lips hovering over his until they settle on the corner of his mouth, where his mother used to say he had a 'kiss': a kiss on a kiss, and though Dean pushes his jaw forward ever so slightly, that's all he gets. But while it lasts, it's the most wonderful rush that he has ever felt, even better than the stoned sex he used to have with one of his exes, and his lips feel plush, plump, and pink with the blood that rises to the surface of them. They're sensitive and readying themselves to be the spectacle he knows his partners in sex love, especially when he's sucking and biting and kissing every part of their body.

Unfortunately, that two-second corner of the mouth kiss readied his lips for nothing, and they pout as Cas retreats. His pinky finger entwines with Dean's, and they're still too lost in each other's blue and green gazes to notice Sam and Jess's first few coughs.

“Still best friends?” Cas whispers, his blue eyes wide and filled with hope.

“Still best friends,” Dean confirms, his green eyes promising a thousand promises.

They've sat through _Home Alone_ and _Home Alone 2,_ but Dean flat out refuses to watch the second sequel as it's _'an abomination to Hollywood and general sacrilege'_ so _Elf_ is next, which Sam promises has the potential the pass the Will Ferrell Rule.

“The Will Ferrell Rule?” Jess asks, frowning as she inserts the disc into the player.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Dean has this weird notion -”

“It's not a weird notion, it's a _fact_ -”

“Whatever. He has this notion that as a rule, he doesn't like Will Ferrell in anything but Anchorman.” Sam rolls his eyes and shakes his head, ignoring Dean's indignance.

Dean defends himself and his rule, just like he has to for anyone who doesn't know about the WFR, and just like always, he doesn't understand how people don't get it. “Anchorman was one of the finest pieces of comedy there has ever been, so don't tell me I should accept Ferrell's sub-par acting in frickin' _Step-Brothers,_ Sam. That was a piece of garbage.”

“What about Stranger Than Fiction?” Cas pipes up. “I liked him in that.”

Pulling the corners of his lips back a little, Dean's eyes dart up as he recalls the movie, and he grunts as he replays all the parts with the actor in question. “He was okay in that, I guess, but my rule still stands, so if you think this is gonna be an exception to the WFR, then I expect it to be. I am not responsible for my own disappointment, you hear?”

He gives pointed looks through his glasses (which Cas had forced onto his face this time, after remembering halfway through _Home Alone_ ) to Sam, Jess, and then Cas, who seems to find the whole conversation incredibly amusing, and is just blinking up at Dean with a smile hanging on his lips. All that does is summon the urge to merge their lips together again, so Dean looks away to the TV set, his hand feeling suddenly empty and cold.

Elf doesn't turn out to be an exception to the WFR, and Dean won't shut up about it (or how hot Zooey Deschanel is) until they put on Jingle All The Way, one of his favourite holiday movies.

“I mean, you think it's just gonna be some movie about a dad trying to make it up to his kid, but it's so much better than that,” he says excitedly to Cas, who's never seen it.

“Seriously, Cas, it's ridiculous how much he loves this film, so if you don't like it, he's never going to invite you round for Christmas ever again,” Sam half jokes.

Smirking, Jess cries in disbelief, “And this movie doesn't even has Zooey Deschanel in it!”

The couple laugh, and he can see Cas repressing a chuckle, so he bites a, “Shut up!” before turning to Cas and quietly saying, “You know that's not true, right? You can hate this movie for all I care, and you're still coming next Christmas. If your mom's still being...you know. Which I kinda hope she is, no offence, 'cause this has been nice.”

“Really?” Cas asks, unable to see the embarrassment of Dean's rambling spreading across his cheeks, “You truly think that this has been...nice?”

Skepticism laces his words, but only slightly, and Dean can tell that it's just doubt on Cas's part, and no wonder after the strange moments have outweighed any other part of their trip.

“Yeah, I really do,” he answers, catching Cas's gaze when he looks down at him. A smile overcomes Cas's face, the full blown eye-crinkling one, and he headbutts Dean's shoulder as he slides a hand up Dean's front and rests it on his tummy.

“Woah, what the fuck, Cas?” Dean hisses. “What are you – don't touch that, it's all fat and disgusting!”

Cas frowns. “No it's not. I don't want you saying that about your stomach ever again, all right? I like it.” He squeezes the small roll ever so gently, and Dean holds a breath as he prepares for it to be made fun of, for Cas to prove him wrong when he once thought Cas would be the exception to those asses, but nothing happens. Nothing but the stroking of it, anyway, and the soft cooing Cas is doing.

“It's so warm, and plump, in a good way, and I like it, and you should too. Mmm, it's so cute and loveable.” Cas won't shut up saying all these things in his ear, and it gets to the point where his fingers are so light that it starts tickling, which is when Dean finally tries to stop it.

Squirming and short of breath, he says, “Stop it, you're tickling me!”

“I know, that's my plan,” Cas growls, his eyes flashing with mirth as he pounces on his friend and works his tickling fingers over the places that he knows will weaken him.

Flat on the couch with Cas above him, Dean can't stop giggling at the deft touches that seem to cripple him, and when tears roll down his temples, that's when he finally has to call uncle. Cas grins down at him and wipes the tears from the side of Dean's face, and they stay like that for a minute or so, out of breath, with Dean holding Cas's hands so they can do no more, and smiling at each other.

Finally, Dean shifts under him, prompting Cas to slide off him, and they sit up, ready to watch the movie they've already missed five minutes of. Dean casts a guilty glance over to the next couch, where Sam and Jess are, to silently apologise, but they are nowhere to been seen, having slunk off at one point between the tummy rubbing and the tickle fighting. Oddly enough, he's glad to see that they've hit the hay already, and pulls the throw from the back of the couch over his and Cas to keep the warmth of their bodies in.

Every so often, Dean will say the lines with Arnold Schwarzenegger in a ridiculous voice, and grin when Cas giggles uncontrollably. At one point, Cas covers his face to laugh with both hands, and Dean can't stop himself from removing them to see him laugh, and when Cas buries his face in the throw, Dean says:

“Hey, stop doing that! I wanna see you laugh.”

Cas looks a little stunned, but doesn't cover his face again, no matter now much he protests against his 'ugly laughing face'.

“It's not ugly,” Dean is quick to correct, “it's cute. All scrunchy and crinkly and gummy. I like it.”

He receives a blush and a bashful, “Stop it,” in return, and before Dean's lips surge forward, he sucks them in and remembers the movie they're supposed to be watching.

_Love Actually_ is next, and it's their final film of the night. They're both yawning and rubbing their eyes, so they pull out the sofa bed and decide to watch it from the comfort of under the covers, deciding that the menu screen isn't completely awful to fall asleep to when they're no doubt too lazy to switch it off. For the beginning, they lay in silence, unsure of whether they can tangle themselves together again like last night, and as soon as Dean's limbs feel both heavy and restless, he starts a running commentary on the movie.

_'Ah, well. OK, well... I'm a little relieved.'_

  _'Why?'_

  _'Because l... thought it'd be something worse.'_

_'Worse than the total agony of being in love?'_

 

“Ha. You're kinda like him,” Dean says, pointing to the young boy on the screen.

He gets the most incredulous look that Cas could ever give, and hears plainly, “Dean. He's – what – eight years old? Short, with blond hair and brown eyes, English, heterosexual, -”

“No, not in looks, dummy. In personality. He's blunt, like you. Headstrong, tenacious, earnest, all that. S'not a bad thing.”

Cas doesn't say anything in return, but he does hum and stick a hand in his hair, teasing the strands, and Dean aches to have his hair played with by his friend's deft fingers.

_'Sure. It's my favourite time of day... driving you.'_

  _(Portuguese) 'It's the saddest part of my day, leaving you.'_

 

Clearing his throat, Cas declares, “They're my favourite couple. Jamie and Aurélia.”

“Any reason?” asks Dean, wondering what makes him tick.

“Because they only say things that they know the other won't understand.”

“And why does that make them your favourite?”

Cas huffs. “I wasn't aware I was playing twenty questions.”

“Playing twenty questions means I have to ask you yes or no questions,” Dean says, all contrary. “Now come on , I wanna know why!”

“Because,” he starts, thinking as he goes, “it's not like any love story we've seen before. With any movie like this, they construe their love through actions, through unspoken words and unfinished sentences. With Jamie and Aurélia” - he points to them on the screen - “they say exactly what they want to, not because they hope the other will understand, but because _they know they won't_.” Cas pauses and thinks again after seeing Dean's face. “Am I making sense?”

“Enough,” Dean assures. “I just never thought of it like that before.”

Their legs touch, but instead of shuffling to opposite sides of the bed, they lock their knees together, the back of them feeling hotter than the motel room they had a couple of nights ago. Dean sees something shift in Cas's face in his periphery and turns his head to ascertain what it is. The corner of Cas's mouth is quirked in a gentle smile, and when he sees Dean gazing at him, he pokes him in his belly and then points to the TV, shooting Dean one final, knowing look before averting his attention to it too.

_'That's right. Meat Loaf definitely got laid at least once. For God's sake, Ringo Starr married a Bond girl.'_

_'...Whatever.'_

 

“See, Cas, he's just like you! He doesn't know who Meatloaf or Ringo Starr are!”

“I know who Ringo Starr is, Dean, I listen to The Beatles.”

“Hipster.”

“Says the man who 'Instagram's his meals.”

Dean can't argue with that one, and wasn't even aware that Cas knew of his '2theImpalamobile' alias on the website.

_'Just tug it.'_

_'OK. You're beautiful.'_

 

“They're _my_ favourite,” Dean proclaims.

“Who, Karl and Sarah?”

“Yeah.”

After a pause, Cas asks, “Why?”

“Don't know,” he shrugs. “I think it's just 'cause they want each other so bad, but aren't doing anything about it. Like, she doesn't think he'll like her back, and he won't make a move 'cause he's too sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“Yeah, he's sweet! I mean, look at him. The way he says goodnight, the way he's finally happy that it's _happening_ after that dance, and then the way he understands - or tries to understand - the situation with her brother. He might not be okay letting her go for now, but he'll still be there when she's ready.”

Cas is gazing at him, not dissimilar in the way Dean was gazing at him earlier, so he copies Cas by poking his sweater-clad stomach and then gesturing to the TV. It takes a couple of seconds, but Cas complies with a sigh, and Dean sighs himself when he can't figure out what kind of sigh it is.

_'Lovely. Would you like it...gift-wrapped?'_

_'Yes, all right.'_

_'Lovely. Let me just pop it in the box. There.'_

 

“That's how I shoulda wrapped your sweater. The porn was a little tacky...but then again,” Dean says, giving his friend a side glance, “so was the sweater.”

Cas fingers his current garb, one he changed into after getting chocolate down his Christmas pudding hoodie: a soft white sweater with silver sparkling snowflakes. He rubs one of the snowflakes with his index finger, his eyelashes casting spiky shadows on his cheeks just as they did in the flickering motel lights, and quietly murmurs, “I love tacky.”

“I know.” Dean thumbs a snowflake too and seeing that some of the glitter has transferred onto his skin, wipes it on his cheek. Ever so slightly smiling, Cas touches his cheek with the lightest of touches, and it's all Dean can do not to grab that hand and keep it stroking his face forever.

_'Wait till Carol-Anne gets here. She's crazy about English guys.'_

_'Uh-huh!'_

_'Hey, girls.'_

_'Carol-Anne, come meet Colin. He's from England.'_

_'Well, step aside, ladies. This one's on me. Hey, gorgeous.'_

 

Dean purses his lips. “Hey, if some English guy came into a bar and started hitting on you, you wouldn't be like them, would you?”

His heart practically stops when Cas indignantly says, “What makes you think I haven't already fallen for an English guy?”

“What?” His voice cracks when he says it, and he wonders whether Cas can tell that the cracks are spreading from his heart.

Cas breathes out through his nose, tickling Dean's neck, and he admits, “A couple of years back, I met an English guy in a bar.” _Thank God, he was speaking in the past tense,_ Dean relievedly thinks, and he hears trepidation and nerves shake Cas's voice when he continues, “It was a fairly open relationship, and I wanted to be exclusive, but he wasn't ready for that. And because of the whole open relationship thing, I wasn't particularly ready for...other certain parts of it.”

“I'd wanna be exclusive with you,” Dean mumbles.

“What did you say?”

“Nothin'.”

Dean's palm itches to slap his forehead, but he focuses it on clenching the bed sheets instead.

_'All I want for Christmas... is you.'_

 

“It's sweet. He's massaged her breasts and she's faux fellated him, but they've never kissed before now.”

Dean snorts. “ _That's_ your definition of sweet?”

“One of them, yes,” Cas retorts. “Why, is it not part of your definition of the word?”

“It's...unconventional, but yeah, I suppose it is kinda sweet,” he unwillingly concedes, and when he hears Cas's victorious 'hmph', Dean says, “Stop looking so smug.”

“I'm not looking smug.”

“Yes you are.”

“It's dark, you can't even see me.”

“I don't need to see you to know that you're looking smug. I can feel it, it radiates from you like a...like a thing that radiates from people, I don't know. God, Cas, shut up and watch the damn movie.”

Dean doesn't need to see Castiel to know that he is smiling.

_'But for now, let me say,_   
_Without hope or agenda,_   
_Just because it's Christmas_   
_(and at Christmas you tell the truth)_   
_To me, you are perfect_   
_And my wasted heart will love you_   
_Until you look like this…'_

 

“To me, you are perfect.” Dean reads the words aloud, just under his breath. He had been saying all the cards in his head as though it were a mind karaoke of sorts, and finally vocalised the most important card without realising.

Cas shifts, and Dean can feel those blue eyes on his face, and he's waiting for Cas to make fun of him for being such a secret sap, though everyone thought so anyway, but he doesn't say anything of the sort. Instead, he completely ignores the end of Mark's arc to murmur back, “To me, you are perfect.”

Their hands find each other and interlock while their gazes do the same. The reflection of the TV dances in Cas's eyes, the lights from the tree adding twinkles upon the twinkles already there from his clear adoration, and Dean stares until Cas clears his throat and smiles a small, fond smile. Those lips in that soft shape is enough to break anyone's concentration, and he suddenly regrets not fully kissing them when they were under the mistletoe. Before Dean can stop it, his thumb is tracing them, and Cas ever so slightly kisses it, looking at Dean through his lashes, before removing it from his lips and holding it to settle all their fingers and thumbs in the small crevice where their hips meet.

“You'll miss the movie,” he whispers hoarsely, presumably because every inch of his body is screaming _later we are so doing things_ at Dean.

And Dean can take a hint, so he mock-grumbles, “ _You'll_ miss the movie,” and snuggles into the warmth of Cas's side, resting his head on one of the shoulders, just one of the body parts he's going to be mapping out with his mouth later.

  _'I'd like to go to Wandsworth, the dodgy end.'_

_'Very good, sir. Harris Street. What number, sir?'_

_'Oh, God, it's the longest street in the world and I have absolutely no idea.'_

 

“So he can get an assassin to kill her ex-boyfriend at the press of a button, but he can't bring up employee addresses? Or even get someone to do that for him on the way over? What was he doing?”

“It's Hugh Grant, he was most likely bumbling his way through the speech he has planned for her.”

“Hmm. Say 'bumbling' again for me?”

“...Bumbling,” Cas purrs, sending shivers down Dean's spine.

Dean shifts in the bed to face him, smirking with arousal. “Heh. You sound cute when you say that.”

“I should hope I sound cute all the time.”

“Oh, you do, sweetheart, don't worry. You look cute all the time too, 'specially in your sweaters.”

Cas squirms a little when he says that, and nervously requests that Dean call him pet names more often. Apparently it gives him the good kind of butterflies in his stomach, like when he sees Dean smile, or hears Dean laughing, and likes to get those butterflies in all kinds of different ways. Dean promises to find at least one more way to give him butterflies before the night is through.

When Cas takes off Dean's glasses, that's when he knows he's in for a good night.

As it turned out, Dean found four more ways, while Cas was disappointed to find none for him. _'It's 'cause my stomach_ always _has butterflies in when I’m around you,'_ Dean had explained, _'so you can't find any new ways.'_

That had sated Cas, and before long they were back to whispering words on each other's skin, saying everything they had ever held in, and letting their fingers trace that places that used to be restricted when they were only best friends.

Dean wakes up to his face being peppered with kisses, and when he opens his sticky eyes, finds Cas hovering over him.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas says smiling, before moving down his body and blowing raspberries on his stomach.

Wriggling and giggling, Dean finally gets him to stop by planting his lips on those pretty dusted rose ones, and flipping Cas over, he laces their fingers together and starts nibbling on Cas's lips instead of kissing them. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “these remind me of turkish delight. Could suck and bite on 'em all day.”

“As I could yours,” Cas manages through bitten lips, “though I suppose your nipples could do. You liked that, didn't you?” It's more of a statement than a question, and when Dean shivers and nods, Cas grins wickedly.

He regretfully leaves the toasty bed and its hot contents to dress and call Anna and wish her a merry Christmas too, and when he's out the room, a dopey smile overcomes Dean's features, and he covers his face in disbelief that Cas _likes_ him, like actually really _like_ likes him.

“So...you two actually got it together, huh?”

The smile falls from his face as he hears his little brother's victorious voice.

“About time!” Jess says in a yawn, leaning on Sam and rubbing his puffed up chest. They both look so damn _smug_ , topping it all off with self-satifsied laughs, and Jess adds, “Oh, you just wait and see what he bought you when we went to the markets.”

Dean's intrigue is piqued, and his eyes immediately dart to the tree, looking under it for anything that wasn't brought up with them in the Impala. There's a small, thin, rectangular parcel labelled for him in different wrapping paper to the rest of his gifts, and he can't for the love of God work out what it might be.

“Are we doing presents before or after breakfast?” Sam asks, excited to tear into his presents as usual.

“Before, obviously,” Jess replies with a 'boop' to his nose, smiling up at him. “Though you'll have to wait til tonight for one of them...”

Dean rolls his eyes as he hears the wet sounds of their mouths and tongues colliding, puts some clothes on and crawls over to the tree, where he starts organising the presents. As soon as Cas comes back in, he leaps up to give him a hug and ask how his family was. As Cas answers, he looks a little sad, as one would be when forbidden to see your family at a time that matters the most, so Dean moulds their lips together, licking at the seam of Cas's until Cas is making happy noises in the back of his throat.

Pressing a final kiss on Cas's beautiful mouth, he declares, “Gifts!” to everyone and throws himself on the sofa bed, snuggling up to Cas's side when he joins him.

Sam's first, like always, so he opens half of Jess's (the other half presumably being whatever she has planned for him later) and gives her a hug when he reads the envelope inside the shoebox she wrapped. Now, he's the adoptive owner of a shelter dog, and they'll give him updates on how it's doing and even let him play with it for a while if he's in the neighbourhood.

“This is the best we can do for a dog for now,” Jess explains, and Sam smiles from ear to ear, his hazel eyes dancing with happiness.

Unbelievably, the smile gets wider when he opens his presents from Dean, and Dean can't help a similar expression from taking over his own face as Sam won't stop thanking him for the entire Game of Thrones book series, a new plaid shirt, and a tablet, which Dean had won in a school competition that year with the intent of giving it to his little brother.

Jess is next, and is slightly confused when she opens Dean's and finds that it's just a thick silver chain with the note, ' _Wait for it'_ enclosed.

“Wait for what?” she asks, but she doesn't have to be curious for long, because Sam hands her his gift, which is five Pandora beads and charms, all meaning different things, but all related to her and their relationship. She gasps and wells up, hugging and kissing Sam and then giving Dean a peck on the cheek.

Dean's third, and he gets a cooking book from Jess, one especially for baking pies, the box set of _Dr Sexy, M.D_ from Sam, and a multitude of gifts from Cas. First he opens a glasses case, decorated with stamps from different states (“A preview of that road trip you always talk about, and a way for you to never forget your glasses ever again.”) and then a completely normal sweater (“Green, to match your eyes.”), then an old iPod Classic with all of Dean's favourite bands and albums already synced onto it (“You can't just sit in your car every time you want to listen to your music, Dean, that's practically archaic.”) and finally Dean opens the one Cas got him from the markets, the thin rectangular one. It's a black metal plate with a wire for it to hang onto something, with a bunny in a Santa costume in the bottom right corner and white words printed on it that read, _'If kisses were snowflakes, I'd send you a blizzard.'_

“You got this for me the other day and we hadn't even -?” Dean starts, his mouth agape in disbelief.

“Well,” Cas timidly starts, “I wasn't entirely sure if you felt the same way at that point, but Sam had implied something of the sort, and then Jess made a few comments about us and why we weren't together if we obviously liked each other, and hearing it from them was different from the way everyone else -”

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean says fondly, pulling him in for a blizzard of kisses.

He eggs Cas on to open his presents then, and in not one of his best ideas, Cas puts on his new gloves immediately, uncaring of the difficulty he'll face opening the others. He brings a gloved hand to his mouth when he unwraps his second present, and thanks Dean with a flurry of smooches after he fails to contain the musical theatre geek inside of him.

“All your favourite obscure musicals on CD instead of in random different places online,” Dean explains, pleased, muttering, “You big hipster,” afterwards, and adding, “I still can't believe they did a Lord of the Rings musical.”

The last present is what really has Cas speechless, and while Dean was embarrassed about how it might go down, he's delighted now, and even on the verge of breaking into song when it turns out that Cas loves it.

“A star...You bought a star and named it after me...Castiel, I can't believe you named a star Castiel!” Cas exclaims, promptly throwing himself onto Dean and pinning him to the bed with more kisses.

“I told you Dean was a romantic!”

“And _I_ told _you_ that he was a sappy romantic.”

Sam and Jess become white noise as he puts all his loving on Cas and rolls around in the sheets with him. “Hey,” Dean says, “I think I wanna try the whole naked thing tonight, see what all the fuss you make about it is...uh, about.”

“Hmm,” Cas pretends to think before nuzzling Dean's neck. “It's a fairly tricky business, so I'd be happy to show you the ropes.”

“You gonna teach me some more lessons?”

“Absolutely.”

Breakfast goes forgotten in favour of working up an appetite for Christmas dinner, which Dean is far too excited to make with Jess while their other halves do nerdy things, like talk running or whatever it is those nerds talk about. When everything's prepared and cooking, Sam and Cas take advantage of the 'Kiss the Cook' aprons both Jess and Dean are wearing, respectively, and finally when the dinner is done, they sit around the table and eat, laughing at the brothers' horror when they discover that they've been playing footsie with each other, and not with whom they thought.

After clearing the table and doing the dishes, they all fall on the same couch, ready to be induced into food comas. They nap for a while, huddled like penguins during a snow storm. Jess is draped across Sam, who's arms are wrapped around Cas's middle, who's resting his head on Dean's stomach, who's somehow lying on top of all three of them.

Sleep-sated but slightly groggy, they awake an hour later. Jess pulls Sam into the bedroom, smirking at Dean's wolf whistles, and Cas starts getting naked as soon as they're out of sight.

“Getting a head start, huh?” Dean comments with a sly grin.

“I'm meant to be showing you the ropes. If you don't watch me take off my clothes, how can I expect you to do the same?”

“Mmm, stripping is _so_ hard, you might have to help me.”

“Gladly,” Cas says, and for every piece of clothing he removes, he does the same for Dean, and when they get to their last garments, their underwear, Cas insists on Dean taking his off for him. “Surely you've learnt enough by now?” he asks with a glint in his eye.

“Let's see...” Dean hums and slowly pulls down Cas's snowman boxers, where the carrot is conveniently placed, and he lets out a tiny gasp when 'surprisingly impressive flaccid' becomes 'unsurprisingly impressive erect'.

Turns out that getting naked really is freeing and relaxing, just like Cas said it would be, and they spend the rest of Christmas day being naked in, on, and around each other.

Merry Christmas, indeed.


End file.
